And The Bitter Stars Cry Out
by Anthonia Rex
Summary: Paris thinks that he will give up his life before he allows that Montague Romeo to look upon his dead beloved, and in another story he did. Here, he doesn't have to. 'Romeo And Juliet' Alternate ending warnings drama, violence, general angst, major charac


Title- And The Bitter Stars Cry Out

Author- Anthonia Rex (Also known as zookie, Striped Cat, or LoupdeLoup)

Rating-T for mild violence, dramatic themes, angst, and MAJOR character death (Hey, this is _Shakespeare_, for cryin' out loud. What did you expect?)

A/N This is a alternate ending to William Shakespeare's 'Romeo and Juliet.' It starts Act V, scene 3, and takes place directly after Romeo arrives at the graveyard and sends his page away. Romeo has been grappling with the door to the Capulet monument and is only now just about to enter the tomb to find Juliet when, alas! who else but Paris shows up?

And no, for all you 'technical readers,' I did not write this in the proper Shakespearian form or language. I am not quite that talented, althoughI may continue to hope.

Disclaimer- At this point, I'm not quite sure who owns the rights to Shakespeare's works. But, alas, it is not I.

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**Romeo **

The rasp of steel against steel caught Romeo's attention, and he turned to see Count Paris and his page at his back. Paris was bright-eyed with rage, his sword out and held in the proper starting position for a duel.

"Villain, I come at thee," he said, his pronunciation crisp and unaffected by his anger as befitting the nephew of the Prince. "For you dare to come and defile the body of my fair Juliet, to spit upon her visage of youth and trample upon her beauty like the common tomb raider. Have at thee!"

Romeo did not immediately move either to run or to make for his own sword (which he had set aside as he grappled with the tomb door and the crowbar), and that was why Paris, for all his furious ranting, had yet to strike. For Paris was an honorable, if stupid, man, one not predisposed to striking at an unarmed man. He would probably wait and strike the moment Romeo moved for his own sword.

"Stay away," Romeo stammered, falling back on his street vernacular instead of the formalized sort of speech that Paris would have grown up with. "Don't come near- leave me be, I'm not… I don't want that. Just go, please…" Romeo was a desperate man, driven by Juliet's death, and he was already weighing his options if Paris would not leave.

Honor was no good in street brawls, Romeo knew, and he had his knife at his belt and countless afternoons with Mercutio as practice that Paris wouldn't know anything about. Punching, kicking, biting, and underhanded stabs with his knife…anything could go. He was too tormented to grasp the concept of an honorable fight. But Paris had a good three-foot reach with that sword while Romeo's own was yards away, and the question was, how fast could Romeo move?

"I will not," Paris said coldly, raising his sword until it was even with Romeo's chest. "I will apprehend you and take you to the Prince to be beheaded- you have broken your exile." Behind him, his page shifted uneasily on his slippered feet, the whisper of cloth amplified in the silence of the graveyard.

"Page, go fetch the watchmen," Paris ordered suddenly, as Romeo edged backwards towards his sword. The boy fled without a word, leaving only silence in his wake.

Things were still for a moment- as though it were a portrait hung in someone's gallery, just the honorable idiot facing the fate-driven fool and nothing but three feet of steel and Romeo's heavy breathing between them.

Then Romeo turned and leapt for his sword, at the same time that Paris lunged, and it was only a sudden roll that kept Romeo from an even closer and probably permanent inspection of the ground. He whipped around, sword now in hand, and parried Paris's thrust from his knees. Bearing upwards, using his leverage to force Paris backwards, Romeo was surprised at how automatically every move came, and how empty he felt.

The rest of the fight was a blur to him, a vague impression of light and wind and the amazingly acrobatic moves he occasionally had to make which he could only guess came from adrenaline. Twice pain registered dimly as Paris managed to hit a blow, once to Romeo's shoulder and then a more disabling one to his calf that sent him to his knees, but all he could think about was Juliet, lying there in the tomb and awaiting his good-night kiss, forever.

Standing over him, Paris said something, something about retribution and fate that struck Romeo as vaguely ironic. But when he looked up the look infusing Paris's face was pity, not petty satisfaction or righteous indifference.

At this time, in this place, pity was the one thing which Romeo could not stand.

And so, before Paris could see what he was to do and stop him, Romeo cursed the heavens and turned his blade on himself.

**Juliet**

Head bowed, staring unseeing at the alter, Juliet awaited her final judgment. Only moments after Romeo's death, she had awoken in the cold, dusty tomb to the Count Paris's face, lit with a combination of amazement, adrenaline, and elation as he took her into his arms and carried her from the tomb.

The droning priest in front of her was not Friar Laurence- Friar Laurence had fled Verona almost as soon as news of Romeo's real death and Juliet's awakening had reached him. Nurse, Juliet's longtime companion, had died of grief the day before Juliet had regained consciousness. There was no one left to believe her ramblings of the Montague who was her husband, but that was almost right, in a way. Juliet had given up on happy endings.

"I now pronounce you one in blissful union." The priest announced, and the church rang with cheers.

She looked up to see Paris's face radiant with joy, remembering another very different man in his place and wishing with all her heart that it could be so. However, Romeo was dead, Paris was not, and she was once again the obedient daughter with nothing left to live for.

Eventually, Juliet learned to smile again, the first time her daughter brought her the same type of flower that Romeo had once loved to gather for her. But tears came as easily as smiles in her remaining years, and Juliet lived unhappy and bitter for all of them.

- Fin -


End file.
